


Little Cat

by Neonbat



Series: Stucky various bingos 2019 [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ABO verse, Alpha Ruts, Alpha Steve, Alpha biting, Asphyxiation, Asset Bucky, Bad ending warnings include the following, Blow Jobs, Child Death, Churches used as backdrops, Dingdong Rumlow is dead, Dom Steve, Dom tiny Steve, HYDRA Steve, HYDRA Trash Party, Hydra Steve Rogers, Hydra agents - Freeform, Knotting, Leather Kink, M/M, Mating Bites, Mentions of past noncon not Steve, Multiple Endings, No warnings for the bittersweet ending except feels, Omega Bucky - Freeform, Omega Heats, Pregnancy, Protective Natasha Romanov, Read only the first chapter if you don't want feels, Seriously it could be a standalone, Steve is Bucky's Handler, Steve is Not Nice, Suicide, Tiny Steve, Torture disguised as kink play, Urine Drinking, Watersports, bucky pov, child kidnapping, maybe I should have made a series, other spicier tags include, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 07:50:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19459606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonbat/pseuds/Neonbat
Summary: The asset obeys when ordered. He hunts. He kills. He doesn't enjoy. But he's waking up, and he thinks his handler might have something to do with it.His handler that calls him 'Kitten'.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first Hydra trash party, yyayyy<3  
> Honestly, I just wanted to write Alpha Tiny Steve as a Hydra badass.
> 
> These kink fests are my JAM.

The jarring shock of the small hand hitting him across the face shouldn’t be so surprising after so long, but it still sends a shock across his skin. He gasps. 

“What was that котенок?” He never calls him ‘asset’ or ‘Soldat’ behind closed doors. The asset is under the impression that it wouldn’t be received well if His superior’s knew this.”Did my little cat meow?” A dangerous smile curls above him and a little thrill of anticipation pools in his gut. He shouldn’t like this. He was aware enough to know this.

But — 

The asset shakes his head, kneeling on the cold concrete floor with his hands neatly tucked behind his back, head bowed. 

“Look at me,”

He looks. Like always, his handler feels like a god among men. Steve Rogers was not a man others looked at and knew him to be the deadly force he was. That was where his danger lies. Steve Rogers is as pale as fresh milk, with delicate pink lips and a head of blond hair. He is a small man, petite in every way, but he holds a room with an easy air of dominance. 

The stink of Alpha hangs on him like a cloud, so at odds with his diminutive form.

The asset shivers, leaning into the proffered hand covered by supple leather. His eyes stay upturned, even as Steve’s blue-green eyes stare down at him behind walls of ice. 

“You failed, котенок.” Hearing it on Steve’s lips is a physical blow, and he presses his cheek deeper into the small hand, begging silent forgiveness.”Shhhh, I know you don’t mean to make me look like a fool.” His tone is soft and sweet, but his words biting.”To make us seem _weak_.” The word flinches through him, and Bucky realizes his mistake the moment he stills.

Another blow rocks him in place, a bloom of pain from the back of Steve’s hand.

“Feeling rebellious, little cat? Have you been out of the chair too long?” Steve snarls, cherubic face mocking.”Meow,”

The asset sucks in a quick breath and shakes his head,” No, Sir. I will not fail again.” He mumbles in reply, a metallic tang on his tongue from one too many backhands. 

A gloved hand combs through his hair, indulgently slow.”Don’t make promises you can’t keep, little cat.” Steve smirks taking a step closer.”You don’t want to get reassigned, do you my glory? Мой малыш?” He croons, “Who else will treat you like I do?”

The asset’s eyes hood and he unconsciously leans forward until he can nose at the crotch of Steve’s black slacks. He knows Hydra never trained him for this. Other agents would indulge in his body occasionally, but none treat him like his Handler. No one makes him crave it. 

“Do you know what I had to do to get you, little cat?” Steve hisses, rocking his hips until he’s grinding his growing interest against the asset’s face. 

He groans, even as Steve’s hand tightens so hard in his hair it tugs a few strands free.

“ _Meow, cat._ ”

“No sir,” He manages, body straining to maintain his position on the ground while tipped so far forward. He’s still streaked in blood from his mission, and while he had succeeded in his mark, the means in which he’d had to do it were — less than satisfactory in Steve’s eyes.

“Rumlow, you remember him?” He does, and he’s not supposed to. The asset doesn’t know why, but he remembers more and more these days. The Wipes don’t seem to go as deep as they used to.

He thinks he likes fruit when it’s hot, and that his favorite color is blue. 

“Do you know the sound he made when he died? Choking on his own blood?” The asset’s breathing deepens, and another hard shiver racks his body. “Do you like that? If I could have done it in front of you I would have, Мой малыш. A little reward.” Steve purrs indulgently above him, even as he presses so hard he momentarily cuts off the asset’s air. 

Steve steps back, abruptly letting go until the asset tips forward onto the hard ground. “But now you make me punish you.” His voices deadens again, and the asset resists the urge to keen. 

“Stand, котенок.” He wobbles to his feet on exhausted legs. The mission lasted a week and he was running on little water and even less food. His head was already swimming. 

Below him, Steve croons, hands reaching for his belt. He’d already been relieved of his shirt before his arms were bound, but now Steve takes his time stripping off his boots, pants, and underwear as well. It all gets dropped carelessly on the floor of the basement. Steve always manages to find areas to rendezvous away from other agent’s prying eyes.

“Look at you, always working so hard.” Steve’s right-hand trails down his abdomen, tracing the outline of a gash against his side.”You’re getting sloppy,” His fingers dig into the gash, and the asset bites the inside of his cheek. He’s weathered worse. Steve never goes too far, even when it’s within his rights. The asset is a possession, a tool. A defective tool must be fixed.

Always watching, Steve takes a few steps away to raise his hand to a metal hook attached to a long length of chain suspended from the wall. The asset already has an idea what it’s for.

“Turn for me, little cat.” He goes willingly, hanging his head so his hair doesn’t get in the way of Steve hooking the bindings around his wrists. “Good boy, always so obedient except for when it counts. Do you like it when I punish you?” His silence earns him another harder hit, this time against his bruised thigh.

“I — “ He wavers, heartbeat momentarily skyrocketing. 

Behind him, Steve laughs, a sound that might have been beautiful if it wasn’t laced with something dark and sinister. 

A metal whir sounds above him, and slowly the wench in the ceiling raises until he’s straining on the tips of his toes, all the weight on his shoulders. The flesh arm is painful, but the agony radiating from his abused shoulder anchoring The Weapon is worse. Tears involuntarily prickle his eyes, and he momentarily forgets to track where Steve has gone. 

A snap of pain sears across buttocks, and he tries in vain to recoil. Steve doesn’t give him time to breathe or beg. It’s a rain of blows, one after the other until he’s writhing like a fish on a hook.

Only when he feels a steady trickle of iron warmth oozing down the back of his legs does Steve stop, the choking cloud of his Alpha pheromones filling the small space. His core twitches and Bucky can feel himself trying to respond. He wonders if it’s been long enough between his suppressing shots for him to slick.

There were rumors of a breeding program in the making, but the asset hopes they are just gossip designed to keep him in line. 

Steve leans in behind him and licks a stripe of blood from his left cheek. His little tongue feels like a kitten’s, ironic considering that’s the nickname he bestowed upon the asset. 

“I smell you, my cat. It has been a while, hasn’t it?” The purr in Steve’s voice perks his cock despite the agony, and he nods. 

Steve’s footsteps are like a ghost’s, even to his enhanced ears. He doesn’t realize where Steve is until the whir picks back up and he’s slowly lowered. 

“On your knees,” The asset sinks with the chain until he’s barely connected to the floor, and Steve stops the lift. The position is almost as uncomfortable as standing, leaving his toes digging into the cement to prevent the scrape of his knees against the floor. If he isn’t careful, he’ll rotate, forcing him to scrabble at the ground for a vain sense of purchase.   
  
“One more week till your next suppressing shot,” Steve says conversationally as he rounds him, eyes raking over every inch of his bleeding, bruised body.”Perhaps I take the shot to give to you, hm? Suppose I don’t give it to you?” The asset’s eyes widen, craning to look over his shoulder at Steve’s amused smirk.”Do you like that? Мой малыш? Would you like me to breed you full of pups?”

To his horror, he feels himself slick between his cheeks, and a low whine pulls from his throat. He wants it. He wants Steve’s seed as much as he dreams of — of things he dare not even think right now. Not when Steve’s eyes are on him. His handler knows every corner of his heart and soul, no thought would go unseen. 

“But not today, you have been bad, little cat. You will have to go wanting.” Steve’s hand trails through the tangled strands of his hair and pulls until he’s staring up at the ceiling. Moments later, Steve fills his sight. He scents the air, drowning in the Alpha’s thick scent. So strong despite being so small.

For a moment, he swears Steve’s eyes soften, staring into his own like there was something unfathomable he was missing. 

Seconds later two leather-clad digits slide past his lips and delve into his mouth. “Such sweet lips, but you want something else, don’t you котенок?” The asset’s eyes flutter closed and he nods, suckling at the taste of mother’s milk. 

Steve’s pleased rumble flares up his molten core, and he squirms, only kept in place by Steve’s anchoring hand.

“Good, котенок, good.” He never tires of Steve’s praise, he is the only one to say sweet words to a wretched being less than a dog. The asset was a tool, not even worth a heartbeat. 

The asset nearly misses the sound of the Alpha’s zipper. The pheromones double, choking out his sinuses until all he can smell is Steve. The blood, the uncertainty, the pain, it is all meaningless now. 

The shift between sucking on Steve’s fingers and his cock is jarring, nearly cracking his jaw at the sudden split. Just like his presence, the Alpha isn’t lacking. The length and thickness of him are almost too large on a body so small, but it’s the knowing smirk hovering on Steve’s lips that imbues the confidence to make it belong. Another reminder of Steve’s prowess, not just as a Hydra Agent, but as an Alpha.

Steve’s hips press deeper and deeper until the full length of his cock is nestled in the asset’s throat. He can’t breathe under the invasion, helplessly looking up at the boyish face suspended above him staring back down at him as if he was something to be kept and coveted.

The hand in his hair tightens, and warmth floods his mouth. “Shh, little cat. Take it. You’re mine to do with as I please, remember?” Steve croons as he keeps his cock anchored deep in the asset’s throat. “Drink it and I’ll give you a reward.”

The asset complies, but even still he has little choice in the matter but to take the hot stream of urine pouring down his throat, or else risk choking. Strained tears streak his cheeks, and despite it all, his cock is still solid and heavy between his legs.

All the while, Steve croons at him, soft breathy noises that float the asset along until he barely realizes Steve has started to pump his cock slowly back and forth along his tongue. “My good little cat, you take all I give you. Can you make me come before you blackout? Will you be good, my котенок?” 

He blinks morse for ‘Y’. He can hold his breath longer than the best normal humans could manage, and while a handful of minutes has already passed, the asset knows Steve. He’s the only person he _knows_.

Even with Steve holding his head by his hair, he tightens his throat and sucks. Every undulation of Steve’s hips scrapes along his throat, but he doesn’t falter. The sound is obscene in the hollow room, the wet choking noise of his raw throat swallowing around the invasion echoing sweeter than the cane strokes. 

Steve is going deliberately slow, not fucking into his mouth the way the asset knows he likes it. He’s looking at the asset to challenge him, but he won’t. The asset knows better. The asset is good only for Steve. 

Somewhere in the drift of time, he thinks he comes, streaking the floor and Steve’s shining black boots with his seed. He’s too lost in the sensation of Steve using his throat for his pleasure to acknowledge his own. He’s being good. _He’s_ good. 

His vision starts to fuzz around the corners, but he doesn’t fight it. He’s blacked out from lack of oxygen more times than he can count according to his chart that Steve reads to him every time he wakes. The chart fills in the pieces that are growing smaller every time. 

Steve is talking to him, growling at him. The Alpha’s cock is swelling impossibly larger until the asset is sure his jaw will crack apart. Then, at the edge of his consciousness, Steve comes. 

His eyes roll, but he takes it, every greedy drop that pumps down his throat with a viciousness that threatens to spill past the seal of his lips. Steve is fucking his face in earnest, small body bent around his shoulders as he powers his slender hips against the asset’s lips. 

The world goes black with the taste of Steve on his lips and trembled praises above him. He thinks Steve calls him Bucky. 

Who the hell is Bucky?


	2. Good/Bittersweet ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after much agonizing, I decided to make a 'good' and bad ending. Because, at heart, my angsty-loving ass loves smoop, but I always wanted to be heartless and write the dark ending as well.

Hot hands skim down the planes of his back, inching closer and closer to the deep-rooted fire burning between his legs. It was a lifetime ago since his last heat, and this one consumes.

“S-sir,” The Asset- No, Bucky, pants quietly. The notion of names and wants are still new. Dusty after so many years. 

The journey down his body pauses, and a throaty growl rumbles above him.” _ Steve _ , Bucky. No more Sir.” Steve had started insisting his designation be changed months ago in private. Right around the time Sir had stopped giving him the suppressors. 

The name is heavy on his tongue, never uttered aloud. He never dares. Even after it all, there are some lines he won't cross.   
  


* * *

  
  
“ _ Sir _ ,” A quiet sob constricts his throat, but he doesn’t stop. They can’t stop. Even as their boots tear down the streets bloated with four-day rainfall, they don’t stop. At least the rain washes the blood away. 

A few paces behind him, Steve’s rasped inhales grow more staccato.”We’re — almost there.” He urges small hand braced against his chest as crimson blood bubbles past his pale fingers. His Alpha stinks with protection pheromones, urging him faster. 

Bucky’s own hands clutch his stomach, the growing mound feeling more surreal than ever.   
  
They were so careful. Always avoiding heavily surveillanced cities, back roads, never making a ripple in the communities they pass through. It was his fault this had happened. His failing. He’d bled, more than his serumed body should. Finding a doctor that would see them without names, keeping quiet about what they saw was too much to ask. It was his fault his Alpha and their pups were in danger. His fault that — 

Steve’s hand shoots out to catch him by the elbow, leaving a bloodied handprint against the ugly navy of his stolen jacket.”Stay with me, Buck.” The soft eyes felt dizzying compared to the memories of the same blue-green alight with glee as he sputtered and gasped at the end of a crop.

* * *

Thin fingers delve into his hole, stirring up the obscene amount of slick glittering between his cheeks. A shameless whine tears from his throat, and he swings his hips greedily into the invasion. A sharp smack against his ass hiccups the motion.

“Be good, kitten. I’m here.” Steve’s rut-thick voice turns him to jelly in his hold, and he sags against the makeshift bed. Above them, Jesus on the cross looks down, as if this was the most damning thing he’s ever done. He can write novels with his sins.

The abandoned church is drafty but solid, a decent place to skirt under the radar in the small Polish town. His heat hit hard and fast. One moment he was dozing in the stolen truck, and the next he woke pawing at Steve’s lap, eyes prickling with desperate tears. 

A dam was breaking in him, spilling out all the things Hydra’s recalibrating usually keeps at bay. 

Steve’s fingers delve deeper until his fingertips rub against the satiny folds of his inner slit, and his cock spurts enough precome to mimic ejaculation. The rough, cruel fingers of Hydra scientists had never done this to him. Never made him feel like he’d die without their touch.    
  
Fat tears start to gather at the corners of his eyes, and he rocks again. Steve’s fingers breech him, and this time he comes. Thick, painful ropes that shoot down into the gathered blankets below them. But Steve never moves his fingers, milking him through it. Bucky just hears Steve’s quiet chortle behind him, watching as Bucky desperately tries to leverage for more sensation with a mournful cry.

“Always impatient. Always been so damn impatient,” Steve smirks and slaps his ass once more.

* * *

Steve stumbles, but he never allows him to fall. Bucky would rather die than let Steve fall. 

Their eyes meet, the grey mist of the early morning melding with the clammy sweat clinging to Steve’s forehead. A tiny, thin smile smoothes across Steve’s paled lips.”Don’t stop now, beautiful.” The words flutter in the recesses of his mind, stirring images of lazy hot mornings spent with too little clothes and bad coffee. 

There’s so much he doesn’t remember that Steve does. Time trickles back into his consciousness like molasses, bringing in the good and the bad. But then, he supposes he’s not the only one that has been affected by the years.

He holds Steve’s small body against his own, burying his face momentarily into the damp strands of golden hair. He spares them one more moment to breath before he’s hooking his arm under Steve’s and practically dragging him along. Even burdened with pups, he’s still faster and stronger than Steve can ever hope to be.

The ugly steeple of the looming church feels a bit like coming full circle. With Steve, it was probably deliberate. Even Hydra couldn’t erase Catholic guilt. 

They skirt around the back and slip inside. Immediately the temperature difference unknots a bundle of tension between his shoulders. His pups shouldn’t be cold for long, they’ve already weathered so much. 

Sometimes it feels like all ominous buildings in Europe have basements, and he ends up in them every time. Still, he trusts Steve, he has to. He has no one else.

Their steps echo against the stone steps that lead down, down into the deep cellar that should be as cold as the grave, but it too is pleasantly warm against their damp skin. Now that there isn’t rain to wash it away, Steve leaves a steady trail of blood in his wake. Bucky hasn’t had a chance to see where the bullets hit, but judging by the deep, rattling wheeze gradually deepening in his ear, one of the bullets had hit a lung.

Only the years of torture at Hydra’s hands kept the chittering panic from sending him to his knees. 

* * *

Fever burns his skin. Sweat pools against the dip of his back as he piteously works himself against Steve’s fingers, desperate sobs hitching his chest. He’s never felt so out of control, so needy.

“The serum really did a number on your heats, didn’t they kitten?” Steve never calls him ‘ котенок’ anymore. Whatever had possessed his Handler to abandon Hydra and take him with him shifted something. Steve never made sense anymore. 

“You’re burning up.” Even with his rut triggered by the strength of Bucky’s heat, Steve was never ruffled. Nothing ever unseats Steve to worry like it does him.

With the return of memories, aspects of a long-dead personality bubble to the service. Trying to purge the mire. 

“ _ Alpha _ ,” He cries, slumping down on his elbows to push his ass into Steve’s hand.

“What do we say when we want something, Buck?” Steve chuckles, drawing his fingers out and hooking his thumb in Bucky’s puffy hole. 

Want. He wasn’t allowed to do that, but Steve kept pushing. Was he hungry? Did he want water? Did he want more this, more that. Pushing and pushing for him to be a person instead of the shadow that follows behind him.    
  
His insides throb, cock rigid and weeping between his legs despite his recent orgasm.” _ Please _ ,” The word cost him something, but it wasn’t a bad price to pay when he heard the drag of a zipper behind him. 

“Good boy, my Bucky.” Steve sighs, and he looks behind him in time to see Steve draw out the fat length of his cock from his trousers. The stink of his Alpha’s arousal pushes all else aside, and he widens his legs, whimpering for more, faster.

“On your back,” Steve orders, but Bucky doesn’t understand. He doesn’t remember much, but he knows this is the position to take when presenting. Past Handlers had drilled that into his mind so deep no Wipe could get rid of it. 

Shivering, he rolls over, lowering himself to the bundle of blankets blocking him from cold stone. It shouldn’t feel more vulnerable with his back against a solid surface, but Steve’s eyes spotlight him.

“My Buck,” Steve whispers, a melding of admiration and avarice.

* * *

There is a shift in the room, and he draws a gun, aiming into the shadows.

“Still the best, I see.” A ghost smirks, stepping from the darkness. The blonde in her hair is wrong, and Bucky doesn’t know why. Something familiar is in her bland smile, all emotion constrained to her eyes. Haunted depths that reflect his own. 

Beside him, Steve swallows roughly.”N..Natasha,” He greets, blood in his smile. 

“Shit, Rogers. Take it things didn’t go as planned,” She advances, careless of the gun in Bucky’s trembling grip. He’s never used The Weapon to hold someone he cares for, and he’s reluctant to let her near. His grip momentarily tightens.

“Bucky,” Steve’s hissed admonishment releases the tension, the soft whirring of his arm loud in the dank basement. “Th — this is agent Rom — “ His eyes bulge and he pitches forward, coughing a splatter of blood against the stone.    
  
‘Natasha’ surges forward, tugging up Steve’s shirt, a scowl twisting on her pale pink lips. Her scent is bland, not even the dull sterility of individuals on suppressors. There is an absence of scent outside of her natural humanity. A void among his pregnant pheromones and Steve’s ever-burning Alpha.

“Get him back here, quickly, his lung is collapsing.” They drag Steve down a narrow hall, passing by smaller rooms containing crates, casks, and odds and ends from the church above. They reach a dead end, and Natasha raises her hand, slapping it against the wall. Before he can ask, a small light emits from a crack, sweeping down her hand, and the seams of a door appear as it opens. A hidden safe house. He might have laughed if the father of his children wasn’t losing the battle to breathe right there in his arms. This too felt glaringly familiar. 

They enter into a broad room with another door by a screened-off area. He’s only able to do a cursory glance as they pull Steve towards the low cot and fumble to pull his clothing up enough to reveal the bubbling wound over his right lung. Another wound pocks the skin of his abdomen, just to the right of his navel. That fills him with more dread than the first. A collapsed lung, while dire, wasn’t nearly the kiss of death a gut-shot was. They needed to get Steve to a hospital, not do a field dressing. 

He looks up, meeting Natasha’s eyes. He has no doubt she knows this, but she tugs a massive kit towards her regardless. 

“We’re two hours from extraction, get it together, Rogers.” She doggedly ignores his glare as she dumps a liberal amount of alcohol on a gauze pad and does a cursory wipe down Steve’s narrow chest.

Injured and pale from pain, Steve doesn’t look like the bundle of death and terror that always inspired equal measures of fear and lust within Bucky. He looks like — 

The bite of snow and stale, unwashed skin hit him. The memory of shivering bodies and hearing the rattling wheeze of Steve’s small body tucked against his own hitting him with the weight of a fist. Steve had been even smaller then. Minute with underactive glands and an Alpha drive pitiful at best. People had always gawked at them, he a large Omega and Steve the smallest Alpha in the city. It just ‘wasn’t right’. 

One of Steve’s hands grope out to catch his own, and he grips tight. Steve’s eyes track to his bulging stomach not at all hidden by the layers of fabric that hide his metal arm.

Bucky does well not to break his hand when Steve bites back an agonized scream as Natasha punctures his chest between two ribs with a slender scalpel. 

* * *

  
  


His eyes roll to the heavens as Steve enters him. The deep, rumbling growl of his Alpha above shivers down his spine, and he whimpers, uncaring how humiliating it is to be so vocal when he was supposed to be trained to know better. The Winter Soldier is silent as the grave.

But, he supposes, these days he isn’t much of a Winter Soldier anymore. Steve has made sure of that.

“Buck, my Buck.” Steve whispers above him, pressing his sweat-slicked forehead into the groove of Bucky’s shoulder.

Hearing it stirs a heavy sensation in his chest. It’s crushing, choking the breath from his lungs with a ragged gasp that sounds too close to a sob. He clings, legs and arms encircling the smaller body above him.

Steve’s hips roll, fucking into him maddeningly slow. Steve’s Alpha-cock fills him to his depths, finding his Omega-slit with every thrust. The breach of Steve’s cock into his slit quivers him all the way through.

Despite it all, worry gnaws at him in ways that he’s never known. “S..Sir, I’m not — I’m fertile now.” He groans, rolling his hips into Steve’s thrusts.

“I know,” Steve pants against his neck, mouthing open kisses just above his engorged scent gland. A rush of slick floods around Steve’s cock, and Bucky keens. “You like that, my kitten? Want to put pups in you. Wanted it for so long. If you only knew. If you remembered.” He doesn’t know what Steve is talking about, but the only word he’s fixated on is ‘pups’.

Hydra would hunt them down to the ends of the earth if they ever knew. They might grant them the mercy of death if they were caught now, but if he was pregnant…

“Tell me Buck, tell me what you want.” Steve leans up, peering down at him with dimly glowing eyes that burn an ethereal blue in the darkness.

What he wants. What does he dare to want ?

* * *

Bucky sits heavily on the foot of the bed, hand clutching over the bulbous swell of his burdened stomach. His Alpha’s blood streaks him, but the steady sound of Steve’s breaths are well worth the price.

“How many, you guys know?” Natasha’s sudden question snaps him from staring at his stained hands. Of all the blood he’s had on them, Steve’s is the one that hurts the most.

He swallows around a dry throat, “Three.” One more than a standard litter, and of that he’s proud. Of course, they would have numerous strong children. 

She hums in reply, rinsing her hands in a bucket of clear water.”Steve brief you?”

“Yes,” He still can’t believe it all. It’s too much. Even if it explains the gaping void between his ears. Looking at Steve now, it feels to fantastical to believe.

“Good,” Natasha goes silent, staring at Steve with a weighted expression. Bucky fears he knows what she’ll say even before she inhales. “He doesn’t have the two hours it’s going to take for extraction to get here, you know that.”

He knew it the moment he saw the bullet lodged in his lover’s guts. Still, hearing it out loud sucks the air from his lungs in a ragged gasp.”He can’t — I can’t do this with him.” His hands tighten around his stomach as if to shield them from the harsh reality that they would be born into this world with only him to care for them. He was no parent. He wasn’t anything without Steve.

“You have to, or else — “

“Nat,” Steve’s weak hiss cuts through the room, and their eyes search out Steve’s as they flutter open. Blood continues to trickle from the tube sewn into Steve’s side, bleeding him from the inside out. 

For a moment, it looks like Natasha might argue. Sighing, she bobs her head.”I got it.” She spares them another glance before walking out, disappearing into the inky halls. 

The bed is too narrow, but Bucky carefully slides in between the wall and Steve to lay cautiously down. The weight of his stomach resting on his organs is uncomfortable, and the gun on his hip digs, but there is no other place he’d rather be. 

“Hold on.” He whispers. Begs.

A small, sad smile creases Steve’s lips, and he gropes a weak hand out to grasp Bucky’s.”’m right here, kitten. ‘M right here.”

* * *

“I want it.” Bucky gasps, tears streaming down his cheeks as Steve fucks into him harder and harder.”I..I want your pups. Your Bite. Please,  _ please _ .” He wants to belong to Steve, not Hydra. He wants to belong to the man that has made him turn away from everything he knew.

Above him, Steve groans so deeply it vibrates right through Bucky’s ribcage. Steve leans up enough to flash his Alpha-fangs, gleaming bright in the dim light.

”You’re mine Buck,” He growls, snapping his hips enough to make Bucky cry out.”Followed you — followed you to the ends of the earth. Ruined you. Made you...Fuck,  _ fuck _ .” His knot slowly grew, dragging against Bucky’s stretched hole. 

Bucky quakes, nails digging groves into Steve’s shoulder blades.”’m yours. Always yours,” He babbled, lost in the wild expression of Steve’s eyes. He’d seen Steve slit a Hydra agent’s throat from ear to ear deep enough to hit bone for shooting Bucky in the shoulder. It had healed within a week, but Steve treated it as a mortal sin. No pursuing agent had come close to capturing them. They were fire and darkness, no mercy save for each other. 

Steve rumbles possessive praise, bending Bucky in half as he pounds mercilessly into Bucky’s slick hole. 

“I’ll never let you go again. You hear me?  _ Never _ ,” It might be the shine of sweat gathering moisture as the corners of Steve’s eyes, but Bucky knows better than that. There was always weight in Steve’s gaze he had no hope of understanding. 

Steve’s knot catches, tugging at his omega-slit, and Bucky’s nails draw blood.” _ Please _ , Alpha. Give it to me,” He urges, wanting to feel even half of the emotions in Steve’s eyes. Wanting to know why he was worth this. 

Lightning fast, Steve struck, burying his dagger-like fangs into the groove of Bucky’s neck as his knot sank home. He yowls, folding his body around Steve’s as pump after pump of Alpha seed flood him. He comes a mess between their intertwined bodies, a seemingly unending peak that drags on until he’s sobbing.

Steve’s knot seals his omega-slit, keeping the bulging mass of seed within him, bloating out his womb. His Alpha growls against his neck, digging his fangs into the tender swell of his glands. Marking him. Claiming. 

Blood trickles from the bite, staining the jumbled mess of blankets below already damp with their sweat and come. 

Steve grinds his knot, milking them both dry until finally, his teeth unlatch. He rears back just enough to fix Bucky in his gaze, mouth soaked in blood. “Bite me, Omega. I’m yours too.” He does the unthinkable, bearing his throat, pale as cream. 

Bucky swallows, clenching up around his Alpha’s knot. Was this a test? No...no. Steve won’t do that to him now. The fog that had consumed them was clearing. They only had each other.

His smaller fangs itches. Peeling back his upper lip from his teeth, a quiet growl rumbles his desire for it. Steve’s scent glances are intoxicating from here, a melding of orchard apples, hot summer, and cold metal. Not unlike his own mixture of mint, black pepper, and gunpowder. 

“ _ Bite me, Omega _ .”

And he does. With a sudden snarl he tugs Steve close and snaps his jaw down over the exposed skin until blood blooms readily over his tongue. He grinds them deep, leaving the ragged impression of his teeth that would heal into a rough scar the same as his own. Their markings. A declaration to all.

* * *

Minutes feel like hours.

Steve bobs in an out of consciousness. Natasha tries to get Bucky to eat, he refuses, but begrudgingly accepts a chalky protein shake for his pup’s benefit.

He’s swallowing down the dregs when Natasha plants herself on a low stool by the bedside.

“Here’s how things are going to go. We have an agreement to get you safe — As safe as anyone can be from Hydra. You’ll be granted asylum and a pardon if you give us every scrap of information you have on Hydra, and I mean everything.” She looks down at Steve, severe expression softening and hardening so fast anyone but Bucky would miss it. 

“Steve has done a lot to help us — Shield, turning on Hydra. Shield and America owed it to him.” Bucky understands this a little, but there is still so much he doesn’t know. Doesn’t understand.

“Because of who he was.” Bucky clarifies.

Sighing, Natasha nods.”Because of who he was, and because of who you were. Sergeant Barnes.” Steve has told him this title before, but it conjures nothing within him. It was another life he has barely any memory of. Only the sound of bombs and screams.

Bucky momentarily still against his Alpha, reaching to push some of Steve’s dark blond hair from his sallow face.”And our pups?”

Natasha’s eyes trail to his stomach,” If you’re asking if Shield is going to take them, then no. Steve...he made his demands pretty damn clear.” She smirks, hand twitching as if she was going to make to reach out for Steve. It stills, and she looks off.”There are safehouses, places you can settle down. If you get compromised, you’ll be moved. We’re trying to flush Hydra out, clean them out like the cockroaches they are. In the meantime, you’re more or less in protective services.”

It’s not ideal, but it’s the best chance their pups have. 

Steve swallows hard between them,”G...gotta know...how to negotiate.” His eyes crack open, and he coughs a rattling few breaths before stilling again. 

“You always get what you want, Rogers.” Natasha responds, leaning forward to check on the drain.”They’ll be here soon. Hang in there.” Before she can draw away, Steve’s hand reaches to snag her wrist.

“You have everything?” He asks, voice managing to command the room despite most of his blood being scattered between here and five miles back. 

Stilling, Natasha turns to briefly grasp Steve’s hand and guide it back against his side.”Yeah, we got everything. We’ll show it to him.”

Bucky’s eyes swivel between them, but they betray nothing. Eventually they part and Natasha leaves the room, stalking the halls like their own predator. A panther with a sensible bob. 

* * *

“We were best friends. Growing up, in Brooklyn.” Steve mutters against the back of his head as they laze in their own filth. Steve is still knotted within him, keeping all the product of their love making within him.

Bucky makes a lazy ‘Hm?’

“You went into the army before me — I didn’t remember the names, just faces, but they made it possible for me to follow after. Gave me a serum like yours. A lot of things happened I’m still getting back from briefings.” A note of frustration filters into Steve’s voice.”You fell, everyone thought you were dead. But I knew better. I died before I could come find you.” Steve’s hand tightens around him, pulling them absolutely flush. 

“I woke up to Hydra defrosting me. They unmade me like they unmade you. Tried to de-serum me, but it — It didn’t work quite like they wanted it too.” Steve smirks. The details feel fuzzy in Bucky’s head, but he vaguely remembers hearing agents cackle about capturing America’s Crown Jewel in the fractured state of his own memories. It had been nearly fifteen years ago. 

“I always knew I wanted you from the moment I saw you, I just didn’t know why. I think it amused them, knowing who we were, allowing me so close.” A dark purr threads in Steve’s voice that makes Bucky clench up around him with a soft shudder,” I killed every single one of your Handlers. It was frustrating making it look...inconspicuous.”

“And these allies of yours?” Bucky asks through a yawn, reaching to place his hand over Steve’s where it rests low on his belly.

Steve gently nips the back of his neck, the distant sound of a bird perched somewhere in the rafters above cutting the relative silence.”I met them a few years ago. Nearly killed each other, but it was enough to create a cascade effect. Things began to come back, but I kept silent. It wasn’t long after I started tampering with your Wipes. Reading you your mission logs. Making you remember. “ Steve’s hand slid out from under his hand, trailing up his body, only coming to rest on the messy bite in the groove of his neck. 

“It was always supposed to be like this. Me and you. Just not like this.” The resignation in Steve’s voice hangs heavy. 

He wishes he could turn and face Steve, but for right now, their bodies melded together would have to be enough.”Do you regret it? Waking up?” Bucky has up till now. Steve made him desire  _ life _ again. To be more than just something to point and shoot.

Steve’s fangs catch him on the shoulder, sharp and cutting, but shallow. Bucky groans, rocking into Steve’s weakened knot, threatening to fatten it back up. “I’ll follow you to hell, Bucky Barnes, and drag you back up again.” The snarl would have been blood-curdling a year ago. Now Bucky hears the desperation layered within the feral need. Steve needs him, as much as Bucky needs Steve. They were always meant to be hopelessly tangled. Perhaps this hadn’t been ideal, but for Bucky, this was all he knew.

* * *

Watching Steve’s face grow more sallow and drawn as the minutes slipped by is worse than any torture Hydra had dreamed of. 

He reaches out, placing a tender hand against Steve’s cheek. Carefully, he scoots closer until he can press his lips to Steve’s damp temple, draping the arm carefully around his upper body.

“Do you think they’ll be strong Alphas like you?” He whispers,”I...don’t want them to be Omega. I don’t want any chance that their life will be anything less.” He’d suffered as an Omega, not just at Hydra’s hands. He had the impression of rough hands and having to physically fight for his right to survive. Of getting beaten, bloodied, and bruised along Steve’s side when they were young. Ghosts of memories, fleeting, but there. 

“I don’t know what to name them, Sir. I barely know my own name,” James Buchanan Barnes is among those ghosts. 

At some point, he must drift, lulled by the deceptive calm and relative warmth. It isn’t until the distant sound of gunfire popping in the distance that his eyes snap open, a snarl building on his lips.

Seconds later Natasha darts through the door and shuts it behind her,”Hydra is on our tails. The Operatives keeping an eye out around here have been engaged. We need to move before we get caged in here before extraction,” She makes quick work of shoving supplies into a small bag. 

Bucky doesn’t move.

“Barnes,” She prompts, eyes steely.

“He can’t be moved,” 

“I know that,”

Bucky stays rooted, leveling his eyes at Natasha. Waiting. The roughly-healed scar of his mating bite feels like an invisible thread binding him to Steve. Tethering him. It is the only leash he’s worn he doesn’t fight against. 

“You know he’s going to die before extraction. He wants you to be safe, we need to move  _ now _ .” No matter the insistence in Natasha’s tone, Bucky doesn’t move. “Goddamit, Barnes, you’re not going to waste everything he’s done. If I have to put a goddamn bullet in his head to get you to move — “

Bucky snarls, planting his upper body over his mate’s prone form. His arm whirrs to life, threatening to crack the metal frame of the cot.” _ He’s mine _ !” They were bound together, it was just how it was supposed to  _ be _ .

The bag drops and Natasha heaves a hard sigh.”Fuck — if you get me killed…” She trails because they knew exactly what will happen if things go south.”You still have a gun?”

“Yes,” Bucky flashes the gun tucked into the band of the maternity jeans he’d lifted a month back. 

“Good, don’t wait till it’s too late.” They both know she’s not talking about shooting someone else. If one Hydra agent gets in, then more would pop up in its place. 

He checks the clip. Four bullets remain, two too many. 

The door slides into place leaving them once more in crushing silence. 

“...She’s right. You should..go.” Steve’s voice is a barely-there whisper. Bucky retreats from his crouched position, looking down into Steve’s glassy eyes.”You have to — “ Steve’s whole body cringes as he suppresses a cough,” — you have to live, Buck.”

A low whine escapes him. Bucky bends, placing a feathery kiss against Steve’s pale lips.”You’re supposed to follow me to hell.” He reminds, briefly burying his head against Steve’s to scent him. The Alpha-scent that used to be so choking was dimming.

Steve’s chest rattles with an echo of a chuckle,” Not the first promise I’ve broken.” His smile is filled with blood, too bright against his grey lips.

There’s gunfire above, Bucky has his safety off. 

The gurgled whistle coming from the hole in Steve’s lung grows worse despite the leakage dwindling. Every breath sounds like a struggle, but worse than that is the fever burning on Steve’s skin. Blistering heat ravaging Steve’s small body as bacteria from the gut-wound diffuses through his veins.

“Sir,  _ please _ .” There’s no bargaining with death, Bucky has killed enough to know that, but he does so anyway. If there was ever a time to start believing in miracles again, it was now. 

Steve’s hand twitches and Bucky reaches for it.”My...name. Please.” Steve whispers, eyes open, unfocused. 

Swallowing, Bucky hesitates. In all the time since their escape, he’s never dared utter Steve’s name out loud. For so long he’s knelt at Steve’s feet, following every order, being his loyal pet. Being his mate was still a novelty that doesn’t feel real. 

The rasping of a losing battle in the room juxtaposed with the occasional pop of gunfire from the battle above is almost funny. Didn’t those fuckers realize what they’ve done? What they’ve taken from him? He’s lost his Time to Hydra. His body. His  _ mind _ . But now they were taking away his entire world.

“Steve, pleaseplease _ please _ ,” Moisture dampens his cheeks, the first few tears are startling. He doesn’t remember a time he hasn’t cried from pain or heat-pleasure.

A fragile smile creases Steve’s lips,” There’s my best guy...My Buck.” 

Bucky swallows a ragged sob in favor of tenderly grasping the sides of Steve’s face and kissing him. He breathes in Steve’s last, taking it in, nestling it deep.

He’s still sitting in the dark, clutching Steve with one arm and the gun in the other hand when the sound of multiple footsteps approach. He hefts the gun, laying his head on Steve’s chest, gun propped. Always goddamn waiting. 

“Sargeant Barnes?” Only Bucky’s years of weapons training prevents him from applying enough pressure to fire the gun in the split second between the door opening and the first Shield operative stepping in.  
  


* * *

  
  


A cool wind licks through the haphazard strands of his shorn hair. The air is crisp, bringing with it the whisper of a chilly autumn night. 

Behind him, he hears footsteps, but he doesn’t turn. He’s gotten used to those footsteps, whisper-quiet and sure. He’s too busy looking at the setting sun over a ridge of mountains in the distance. The sprawling field overgrown with weeds bowing to the cooler nights.

“Have I mentioned Sarah is a brat?” Natasha grouses as she steps up beside him, so different than the tight-jawed agent he met what felt like a lifetime ago. Tucked up in a baggy sweatshirt and yoga pants, Natasha looks like she could be the aunt she pretends to be when she visits.

Bucky smirks slightly, solitary hand drifting from his long-healed mating scar. On nights like this, he gets lost in thought just tracing the edges. Nursing memories.

“Who do you think she got it from?” Bucky replies. 

The memories were still coming back, grains of sand trying to fill a desert. Doctors say he would probably never get them all back, that it was his mind’s way of protecting himself, but there were many he treasured.

The morning he remembered the first time he and Steve met he cried himself sick. Remembering Steve’s mother’s name was bittersweet, coupled with the week she died. One by one, he turns them over and grieves. Grieving for the men they’d been. Grieving for the lives lost to war. Grieving for the time taken from them. And most importantly, grieving for the father of his children that would never know him. 

For a few minutes, Natasha stays quiet, staring at the peace the Shield-provided safe house gave them. Natasha’s visits have been increasing lately, and Bucky sees unrest in her eyes. Sometimes, he catches her looking at the kids with a smile so soft it makes her look years younger. Less hardened.  _ Open _ . 

He never expected to get close to the woman, but that seems foolish now. Steve had liked her, so of course Bucky likes her. He saw a lot of himself in her, and she’s said the same. She was a friend he never knew he needed. 

“It’s been three years.” Natasha doesn’t need to remind him, but Bucky doesn’t think that was the purpose.

Bucky nods tightly.”Yeah,” It was a weak reply in a rushed exhale, but it was all he could manage. The kids had patted at his cheeks all morning as he’d sniffled into his coffee. 

“You’re doing good, Barnes.” His head angles towards her at the unexpected compliment. Natasha wasn’t one for heart-to-hearts.”With the kids, your recovery. He’d be proud.” It cost her something to say that, another chink in her armor, and he treasures it. 

Bucky nods, knowing better than to reply, less she smack him. 

Sarah, Beck, and Grant were down for the night, protected in their shared room with walls bunker-thick. For the rest of their lives, they would need protection. To learn how to protect themselves. Even if Hydra was eradicated the knowing of offspring of the Winter Soldier and the fallen Captain America would draw evil to them at every turn.

“Pizza?” He offers. 

A tiny smile twitches on Natasha’s lips,”Sarah got snot on my jacket, you’re buying me cheesy bread.”   


“I got to take a shower without worrying about crayon-walls, anything you want.” Bucky lets Natasha lead the way through the backyard littered with toys, shaking his head softly as he spies the graveyard of dolls stuck head-first into the sandbox.

As they cross the threshold, Natasha pauses.”Incidentally, I might have quit my job. I moved all the shit from the guest room.”

Bucky doesn’t get to unleash the brewing panic that bursts from his chest, as soon as he steps into the living room, he sees what Nat’s done with all the ‘shit’.

A few months after the triplets were born, he’d woken to a number of boxes being dropped at his front door accompanied by an Agent.

Steve’s old sketchbooks stack neatly on the mantle next to a worn, wooden anatomy figure. Near it sits the baseball Steve had nearly gotten beaned over the head with when they were — Thirteen? They’d snuck into a big game and lucked out with a home run hit.

“Some of the other stuff I put in the kid’s room, like Steve’s mom’s quilts.” Natasha shrugs as if she hasn’t made the house finally feel like home. He just hadn’t been able to look into the box of recovered memories without feeling lost and hopeless.

Holding back tears, Bucky nods, walking over to pick up one of the old sketchbooks no doubt taken from deep within the Smithsonian’s storage rooms. 

“What wine goes best with cheesy bread?” He asks, touching the pages tenderly. 

Natasha rounds into the kitchen, rooting in the fridge.”Fuck wine, even idiots know beer goes with pizza.” 

Chuckling, His eyes settle on a faded sketch of a man stretched out on a frame-less bed, bare except for messy sheets around his thighs. His hair is short like Bucky’s, his smile careless and free. He holds a hand out towards the artist, playful.

Bucky remembers that sweat-soaked summer day, and kissing Steve’s charcoal-smudged fingers.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information, requests, or updates, go to: [My Tumblr](http://neonbat666.tumblr.com/) and search #Neon-writes or #Neon Writes  
> [My Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/Neonbat666)  
> Discord: @Neonbat  
> Twitter: My Twitter


	3. Bad Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This picks up at the end so no one has to reread the whole thing haha.

“Sargeant Barnes?” 

The loud bang in the room staggers the officers back into the hallway, breath’s catching. Swallowing, the leader motions sharply.”The pups can be salvaged if they’re cut out quick enough.” He snaps the others to attention. 

He watches as other agents converge on the room, pulling the Winter Soldier’s body off of the still form of the Hydra-defector. He still couldn’t believe that was Captain America he was looking at, the symbol of American freedom reduced to _this._ He'd read the reports, but seeing it was world's away from the clinical text.

Minutes later, the slick sound of the medic’s hands produce gold.”Two are alive, the third is dead.” 

“Good, at least it wasn’t a total loss.” Having two children of the super-soldiers would make up for losing them. “Get them stable and those bodies packed up, research will want them. Wings in twenty.” He turns, walking back towards the helicopter. As he passes by another agent, their eyes catch, and gleeful smiles spread across their lips.  
  
Rogers had been a clever little liar, but even he couldn't rat out agents that were never around him or on paper. He wonders if it ever occurred to Rogers that there might be secret cells isolated for this very reason. Namely, right under Shield's nose.  
  
"Hail Hydra,"  
  
Minutes after the pups are stable in the helicopter, dead Shield agents litter the ground. Rogers had forgotten the golden rule.  
  
Cut off one head, and two will follow.

**Author's Note:**

> For more information, requests, or updates, go to: [My Tumblr](http://neonbat666.tumblr.com/) and search #Neon-writes or #Neon Writes  
> [My Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/Neonbat666)  
> Discord: @Neonbat  
> Twitter: My Twitter


End file.
